


This Might Be the Story They Tell

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Real Person Fiction, Vampire Diaries RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 09:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: How many people ended up married to their co-stars? Especially co-stars that took nine months and more encouragement than was humanly calculable to finally take her to bed? The day she read about Anna Paquin and Steven Moyer, she felt a flutter that she could not ignore.





	This Might Be the Story They Tell

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Every story I wrote about NIan was written between December 2010 and January 2014. These are old and hold no bearing on how things actually were, are, or will be. I know Ian is married now, and I am not trying to be disrespectful. For all these years, I kept these stories locked on LiveJournal and protected, and it just occurred to me that these are just stories, and these are as much characters as any of the other fanfic I've ever written. It also represents a lot of my creative time and energy and I'm proud of these stories. So I'm posting them now, with the intent that others might enjoy them.

She remembers the first time she met him, he was all southern charm and let-me-kiss-your-hand. She was sort of taken aback by the fact that he was serious, and sincere, and while part of her wanted to laugh, mostly she was breathless because his eyes were just, well,  _Ian's eyes_.  
  
It didn't take long to realize he was just a big kid, and a lot fun, and seriously beautiful, but totally real in a way that somehow made his appearance bearable. (Which was good for that brother-sister relationship he seemed to want to perpetuate in the interviews they did in the beginning.)  
  
He was also a whiz at the whole acting gig, how the business was, being used to rejection, and oh-so-grateful for the fact that they'd all gotten what could possibly be the best jobs ever. (When the show debuted to the highest ratings for The CW ever, it had been beers all around.)  
  
Nina thought then, and still believes a year and a half later, that everything about him made this experience the best one of her career so far. (Possibly ever, though to say something like that aloud was like inviting disaster; she was young, but she wasn't naive. How many people ended up married to their co-stars? Especially co-stars that took nine months and more encouragement than was humanly calculable to finally take her to bed? The day she read about Anna Paquin and Steven Moyer, she felt a flutter that she could not ignore.)  
  
These are things she tells him (not the Anna Paquin thing), and it's not awkward or strange, because he compliments everyone all day long, and what's more is he really means it, and he doesn't have one artificial bone in his body. Maybe it's because everyone everywhere has always been telling him he's so good looking and saying things like  _girls must be crawling all over you_  that he learned to take praise in stride without looking graceless.  
  
In fact, she's never known someone more thankful for the good things happening to them than Ian Somerhalder.  
  
"Babe?"  
  
The fact that he's in their bed right now, his hair poking up every which way (not by stylist design), his normally pink cheeks devoid of color, and his eyes dull to the point of causing her concern, shows her that he's really just like every man on the earth, despite all those other things about him that she adores.  
  
"I'm here," she says, keeping her voice low. She hands him a glass of orange juice and his third dose of antibiotic for the day.   
  
When he's sick, he's perfectly useless, and dependent, and...well, somehow even more attractive to her than he is when he's at one hundred percent.  
  
She helps him sit up as he puts the pill in his mouth and downs the juice. He jostles at just the wrong moment and the OJ sloshes over the rim of the glass, splashing against the material of his undershirt. "Shit," he murmurs, rubbing his fingers over the spot as she takes the glass from his unsteady hand.  
  
"It's fine," she says. Placing her hand against his forehead, she can tell his fever is gone now, so only two days in and the antibiotics are doing their job. "Go back to sleep," she urges, gently pressing her palms flat against his shoulders. He goes back down with no resistance.   
  
One of the cats raises her head and gives Nina a look for disturbing their co-sleeping partner.  
  
"Work," he mumbles, his hand capturing one of hers. She sits next to him, watching as he settles back into repose.  
  
"Tomorrow will come soon enough," she whispers.   
  
He smiles, even as he falls asleep.  
  


  
  
Julie, who had made a special visit for this episode, raises her eyebrows exasperatedly at Nina on set the next day and Nina just shrugs. She doesn't know what to tell her. (They don't talk about it at work, though she's sure everyone suspects it. She'd had to call corporate and change her address after all, but nobody knows for sure that they live together except for Paul and Candice.)  
  
At home, he's like a giant infant who will be directed with the gentlest of suggestions.  
  
At work, he's like a man possessed, and if you've seen  _The Exorcist_ , you know there's nothing good about that.  
  
Marcos approaches him, going in as deliberately and mildly as he always does, his notes instructive and well-taken. They reshoot the scene and Ian's a little less maniacal. Later, alone in her trailer, she giggles into a hand towel, imagining Damon Salvatore sick. She hopes they get to play that scene someday.   
  
He's waiting for her outside, more pathetic and hangdog than the previous day and she wonders if he's sicker somehow, even though he's supposed to be getting better.  
  
"Today, I sucked," he laments, taking her hand as they walk towards their cars.  
  
"You're sick," she reasons, because there's no point in trying to placate him. He could probably sell sand in the desert, but he never wants to hear patronizing remarks, even if ultimately they'd make him feel better.  
  
He huffs out a sigh. "Yeah. But still."  
  


  
  
She knows he's feeling better - like  _infinitely_  better - when they wrap the episode four days later. He kisses her in the parking lot, pressing her up against the Prius in that way that means dinner will be happening much later than is wise for people who need to stay fit. He breathes in her ear, "Sometimes Damon and Elena's tension is, like, way great, you know?"  
  
She laughs into his neck and slides a finger into the belt loop on the back of his jeans. "Take me home, Somerhalder."  
  


  
  
Sunday morning comes, as does the newspaper and coffee and bagels, a tradition that they established practically the first month they were hooking up. He hands her the comics and  _The Weekender_  and she asks, "Wanna go to a movie tonight?"   
  
He takes a bite of bagel. "What's playing?" he asks.  
  
"I'd like to see  _Harry Potter_ , remember?"   
  
She stares at him until he looks up at her. "Opening weekend, babe. All the crazies will be there."  
  
"I know," she says. "Less likely anyone can snap pics of us." She clicks a pretend camera in his face.  
  
His eyes widen, and she can almost hear the imaginary light bulb pop over his head. "True that." He chews for a moment, his eyes crinkling as he swallows. "I'll call your mom."  
  
It's these moments that make her dream, just like any girl in love would. She knows people don't marry everyone they date, but not everyone dates Ian Somerhalder.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [in my mind, this story took place during the filming of 2x10 The Sacrifice]


End file.
